Sherlock: Happily Never After
by Dr.HiddlesMerthurlocked-Moran
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has fallen. The Reichenbach Hero is dead and the fictitious criminal mastermind James Moriarty has reached his end. ...Or so it would appear. The reality of the situation, however, is quite a different story. Sherlock is very much alive, and Moriarty's plans have only just begun. Pairings: Johnlock, MorMor, and eventual Mystrade. In the process of being rewritten
1. Prologue: The End

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Prologue: The End**_

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. The world was dull, and gray, and boring. The shot was still ringing through the air, loud and final. The body of the once dangerous genius was lying cold on the rood. The wind blew ominously. There was nothing left to stop what had to be done. It was nearly impossible to believe things had snowballed so out of his control.

He walked to the ledge, head hanging slightly, lost in thought. They had been getting a dog today, a puppy. 'Gladestone…' He thought the name had been slightly silly, but what did he know of such things. Naming animals was another mystery he wasn't ready to let disturb his Mind Palace.

Thinking of it, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself a bit, until he realized he had reached the end of the rood. He stepped up onto the ledge, and looked down and out before him. He saw a cab pull up across the street and watched as a familiar blond hair immerged. A smile pulled at his sad lips. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and pressed the first speed dial and put the cell to his ear.

It rang only half a ring and the voice on the other end answered. "Hello? Sherlock? Where are you, I'm coming inside." he said, voice not yet overly worried.

Sherlock took a shaky breath, trying to compose himself before speaking. "John…" he closed his eyes, keeping his tears at bay. "Turn around, and walk back the way you came."

"But Sherlock, I'm coming in–"

"No. Please…Just do as I say." he interrupted, watching his friend from his perch high above. He watched as John turned and walked back. "Stop. Right there. Now, look up, I'm on the roof." he said, voice trembling slightly.

John looked up and his eyes watered, seeing his best friend on the ledge of the hospital. "Oh god…"

"I-I…I can't come down…So we'll just have to do it like this…" he said into the phone.

"Sherlock…what is this…?" John asked, holding Gladestone's leash as the pup whimpered.

There was a slight pause. "An apology." he said simply, and paused again to compose his thoughts. "It's all true. Everything they said about me." he glanced back at the body behind him. "I invented Moriarty." he said and sighed. "I'm a fake." he said, getting choked up. "The newspapers were right all along." he pauses again, taking another shaky breath before continuing on. "I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. Tell Gladestone for all I care. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you. That I created Moriarty, for my own purposes."

"No. No, shut up. Shut up." John whimpered. "When we first met, all that stuff you know about me, about my sister."

Sherlock scoffed. "Nobody could be that clever."

"You could!" John exclaimed in protest.

Sherlock laughed slightly. "I researched you." he said and paused, letting it set in. "Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you." he said simply. There was an eerie silence between the two, and the wind howled in their ears. "It's a trick. Just a magic trick." Sherlock added, to break the silence.

"No…" John murmured, his eyes watering. He went to move towards Sherlock.

"No, stay exactly where you are! Don't move! Keep your eyes fixed on me!" He exclaimed, putting his hand out.

"It's alright." John frowned, putting his hands up. "I won't move."

"Please, will you do this for me? This phone call, it's uhm…it's my note." he paused. "It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"

"Leave a note for what?"

"Goodbye, John." he said simply, and tossed his mobile behind him. He spread his arms.

"No!" he yelled, putting his phone down away from his ear.

Sherlock stepped off the roof, flailing as he fell through the air towards the ground.

"SHERLOCK!" John screamed. He watched, helpless, as his friend plumated to his death. He rushed to his friend, but Gladestone wouldn't budge, and a passing bicyclist ran into John, knocking him off balance. He fell to the concrete, hitting his head. "Sher…lock…" he groaned. He slowly picked himself up and went to Sherlock's side, a group having already gathered.

"Excuse me! Let me through. I'm a doctor." John said, pushing his way through. "I'm his friend…" he added. He reached for Sherlock's arm, feeling for a pulse, but was pulled off.

"Oh jeeze….Oh god…." John whispered, staring at his friend's body, broken and sad.

The doctors heaved Sherlock's body onto a stretcher and John watched as his friend was wheeled into the hospital.

A few days later, Mrs. Hudson and John stood in the rain under a tree before Sherlock's headstone. They were both silent for a very long time.

"It's going to be so quiet now…No guns going off at 4 in the morning…" Mrs. Hudson sighed.

John nodded silently, and hung his head. Mrs. Hudson turned and walked away.

"There's so much I need to say…But I don't know how. I just don't…know how to say them." he whispered to the cold, quiet headstone. "I still don't know why you did this…" he murmured. He frowned, and went to turn away, but stopped. "Just one thing Sherlock. Just one more miracle, for me. Just one more. Just don't…be…dead. Don't be…dead." he whispered, getting choked up. "Stop this. Stop this, right now…" he said and pointed angrily at Sherlock's grave. He quickly composed himself and saluted Sherlock's grave, spinning on his heel and walking away into the rain soaked day.


	2. Chapter 1: Sherlock's Funeral

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 1: Sherlock's Funeral **_(SH/GL)

Lestrade walked into the morgue, and nodded at Molly. "Mrs. Hooper. Let me see the body, please." he said, ordering her.

Molly frowned. "Detective Inspector Lestrade!" she exclaimed. "What do you–? What body?" she asked, nervously.

The body on the slab gasped in a breath, the slight colour coming back to its skin. The movement of the body made Lestrade jump. "What is the meaning of this?" he exclaimed.

Molly flinched. "I'm sorry to keep you in the dark sir, but…"

"Oh hush Molly." a voice said from under the sheet. A voice that should have been dead hours ago.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade exclaimed and pulled the sheet back to see a smiling Sherlock Holmes, lying naked on the slab, but alive and well. Lestrade's cheeks got hot and his eyes widened.

"Hello Gregory." Sherlock said and smiled a mischievous smile. "Miss me?" he asked and sighed.

"But you're dead! I was the one who recognized your body." he said and frowned. "You're not…" he blinked.

"Oh please, I don't have time for this. I have my name to clear, so I can come back freely." he said and pouted. Sherlock sat up and grabbed the sheet. He stood and wrapped it about himself. "I need new clothes. A disguise…I can't be Sherlock Holmes just yet…" he sighed. "Which of you is willing to get me clothes?" he asked and smiled.

Molly blushed and glanced at Lestrade. "Fine…I'll get you clothes, Sherlock. But…so then…I was right to believe in you? You didn't make it all up?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock shook his head, his curly hair hitting his eyes. "Honestly Lestrade, if you have to ask that…Of course I didn't make it up. I'm not that stupid." he grumbled.

"I…yes of course." Lestrade murmured. He looked at his feet. "They found Brooks body on the rood. A gunshot wound killed him." he said and sighed. "But since he had the gun, people are starting to believe in your guilt. They think you forced him to kill himself…"

Sherlock growled. "That's absurd!" he said. "Granted, I did want him dead after all he'd done. But I did not pull that trigger." he said, glaring at Lestrade. "Now, if you're done speaking nonsense, I am in need of clothes. I have a funeral to attend." he smirked.

Hours later, Lestrade brought Sherlock some new clothes. "Alright, so what's your plan then?" he asked, as Sherlock quickly dressed in front of him.

"My plan?" he asked. "I thought that was obvious. I'm going to my own funeral t check on John, then I'm unsure what comes next." he sighed.

Lestrade frowned. "Sherlock…you can't let them know you're alive…" he said and frowned.

Sherlock laughed. "I'm not stupid." he said again. "That's why I needed a disguise." he chuckled. "Now then…let's go to my funeral!" he exclaimed, dressed in his new clothes, smiling like a madman.


	3. Chapter 2: Recovery

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 2: Recovery **_(SM/JM)

The tall, fair-haired man slung the limp body over his shoulder and brought it to the car with the blacked out windows. He gently laid the body across the backseat, strapping it down so it wouldn't move. He checked the pulse and his worry vanished. It was a weak pulse, but a pulse to work with all the same.

"Don't worry…I'll nurse you back to health…" he whispered, gently brushing the dark hair from his master's face. "Jimmy.." he whispered. He closed the door and got in the drivers seat. He drove off to their flat and got the body out of the car and carried it upstairs to the flat. He unlocked the door and slipped inside, bolting the door behind him. He gently lay Jim's body on the big bed and stripped off his clothes.

He got the first aid kit and patched up the gunshot wound in his neck. "Just grazed you, like I promised. Enough to make you seem dead…" he whispered. He pressed his lips to the dressing gently and sighed. "You'll be alright Jimmy…" he whispered.

He went to the fridge and got the blood bag and brought it to the room, and put Jim on a drip IV, attaching the blood. "I have to go buy a few things…I'll be back soon…" he whispered and kissed Jim's forehead.

Just as he was about to walk away, Jim's hand reached out and caught the taller man's. "Sebby…" he whispered, voice barely audble. Sebastian froze and turned around, taking Jim's hand in his own.

"Jim…" he whispered. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

"Like shit…and sleepy.." he chuckled. Jim's eyes closed, and reopened slowly.

"I know…You lost a _lot_ of blood. More than I had planned for…it took them so long to clear out..and then _you_ up and disappeared…" he sighed, retracting his anger for now. "But it's nothing I can't handle. You _will_ live, and you _will_ get better." he sighed. "I promise." he added quietly.

Jim squeezed Sebastian's hand lightly. "I know Sebby…" he whispered weakly.

Sebastian leaned down and pressed his lips to Jim's cold ones. "I have to pick up a few things from the grocery. I'll be back soon." he smiled gently.

Jim nodded sleepily and drifted off to sleep, his grip loosening from Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian smiled and watched Jim sleep for a moment, his face unnaturally pleasant. He sighed and hurried out of the flat, locking the door on his way out. He hated leaving Jim alone


	4. Chapter 3: Broken Home

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 3: Broken Home **_(M. H/JW)

The shades were permanently pulled closed. The fire place was cold. The flat unloved and lonely, and uninhabited. Mrs. Hudson walked up the stairs and frowned. She pulled out her mobile and dialed the number and waited.

"Hello…?" the voice on the other end answered, sounding depressed.

"John…Come home, please? I don't want to be forced to sell it.." she said and frowned.

"I…fine. I'll be gone tomorrow. …no." he sighed. "I'll be there tonight." he said and grumbled.

Mrs. Hudson smiled slightly. "Good dear, I'll be waiting." she said and sighed.

A few hours later, John left his personal flat, taking Gladestone with him. They walked together to the flat at 221B, bot a bit hesitant. They walked past a man, clad in scarf and coat, and Gladestone whimpered. He pulled John towards the man. "Gladestone…stop that…" he whispered and pulled his leash.

"Lovely dog, he's cute." the man said, his voice sounding familiar. "How old is he?"

John blinked. "Oh? Uh…Gladestone? He's uhm…he's 1…" he said and watched the man curiously. "I'm sorry…do I…know you?" he asked and tilted his head.

The man froze. "I don't believe so. Nope. You don't know me." he said and smiled. "Have a good day, doctor." he said and started to walk away.

John blushed. "Hey! Wait! What's your name? I'm sure we've met before…" he called. "Sir?" he added.

The man turned and chuckled. "My name? Hmm…Not yet, doctor. I can't let you know just yet. Have a good day now." he smiled and tipped an invisible hat and wandered off down the streets.

John watched him curiously. "Seemed like…but it couldn't be…could it be…Gladestone?" he asked and watched as the man walked away, disappearing into the distance. Gladestone's tail wagged and he looked up at John with his big blue eyes. "My beautiful pup…you know..You're eyes remind me of him…" he sighed, a pit forming in his stomach. "I wish he'd come back…" he whispered, tears falling down his cheeks.

"John, dear!" Mrs. Hudson called. "Come inside, I made dinner and would like for you to join me." she said and smiled sweetly.

John nodded and followed Mrs. Hudson inside and they sat down for a meal after John fed Gladestone. "This tastes wonderful, Mrs. Hudson." he said happily.

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "It's so good to see you smiling again, dear. I thought I'd never see you smile again. It's so lovely." she said and sighed.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John looked up from eating, a question in his eyes.

"Yes dear?" she asked, sweetly.

John frowned. "Do you….Do you think….is it possible for people to come back from the dead?" he asked.

"Honey….I'm…no. He isn't coming back. He's a wonderfully smart man. Well….was… But even he can't cheat death…" she whispered.

John frowned and nodded sadly. "Yeah…I know…it's just that…Well..I saw a man today and…Well he knew I was a doctor, and he seemed…extremely familiar, but he insisted we hadn't met…Even Gladestone seemed to know him…What if it's possible?"

Mrs. Hudson frowned. "John…don't get your hopes up dear…" she murmured. "I don't want you heartbroken…" she added sadly.

John sighed. "Okay…I understand. Thank you…" he muttered. "I should go upstairs and take care of Gladestone…" he stood up.

"John…I'm sorry. Really." she whispered.

John nodded and went upstairs and curled up on the sofa and cried himself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 4: Redeeming Oneself

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 4: Redeeming Oneself **_(GL/SH)

"Sherlock! What _were_ you thinking? What if you had been recognized?" Lestrade exclaimed, reprimanding Sherlock on his adventure to see John.

"Oh shush…" he grumbled. "Don't worry, John isn't much of a dreamer. Well…I mean..he probably thought it could have been me, but he knows I'm dead, so he knows that it can't be me." he sighed.

"You implanted hope inside his heart, Sherlock! Now he's going to be expecting to see you everywhere!" he growled. "We have to cut your hair, we have to dye it. Sherlock cannot exist for a while."

Sherlock blinked. "You are _not_ cutting my hair." he stated rather firmly.

"I wouldn't have had to, if you hadn't made your little visit today. Now, go to the kitchen and take off your shirt." he said and went to the bathroom, grabbing the brown bottle of peroxide. He walked into the kitchen and froze in the doorway, mesmorized by the sight of sunlight hitting Sherlock's pale skin. He pulled himself together and sighed. "Sherlock, over the sink. I'll bleach your hair first." he said and walked over.

Sherlock grumbled and bent over the sink. "I hate you right now. …I _so_ hate you." he growled.

Lestrade smacked him in the head. "Shut up." he ordered. He covered Sherlock's eyes with a washcloth. "Now shush until I'm done." he murmured and started rinsing Sherlock's hair with the peroxide.

When he was finished rinsing it, he shook it out in a towel. "Alright, I'm sure it's completely dry. If you feel dripping, let me know right away. I'm going to cut your hair now." he said and grabbed the scissors. He pulled out a chair for Sherlock and forced him into it. "Stay still." he said forcefully. He started on cutting the curly locks, and it was almost painful to watch them fall to the floor.

"Alright Sherlock, you're all done now." he said and sighed when he was finally finished. "You'll need to go shower now, get out the excess peroxide. I don't want that being dangerous for you." he said quietly.

Sherlock looked up into Lestrade's eyes. "Why are you suddenly being so wonderful?" he asked and frowned. Lestrade chuckled.

"Wonderful? Don't try to butter me up Sherlock." he said and sighed. "Go take a shower. I'll get you out a towel and spare clothes." he added.

Sherlock glared slightly at Lestrade. "Tell me honestly…how does it look?" he asked and sighed, running his fingers through the short mess of now blond hair.

Lestrade chuckled. "Sherlock, it look fine. Now go shower, please. You smell like peroxide…" he grumbled. He smiled at the glare given to him at his comment.

Sherlock toddled off to the bathroom and turned on the water, letting it warm up. There was a knock on the door, just as he had taken his trousers off. He stepped into the shower and drew the curtain. "Come in…" he called, his deep voice bouncing off the shower walls.

Lestrade walked in and set the clothes and a towel down on the sink counter. He glanced towards the shower and blushed, seeing Sherlock peeking out from behind the curtain and watching him.

"Thank you Lestrade. You've been such a wonderful host." he said and smiled sweetly.

Lestrade frowned. "Well…you're welcome, I suppose. But I'm only repaying you for the 5 years of help on cases." he chuckled. "Repaying you for your genius."

This made Sherlock giggled. "Genius? Me? Nah, that's hogwash." he smiled. "Are you in need of a shower as well?" he asked kindly.

Lestrade sighed. "Eventually. Whenever you've finished. Take your time." he said and smiled. "Use whatever you need. I'll be in my bedroom." he murmured and walked out carefully, avoiding glancing at Sherlock's silhouette.


	6. Chapter 5: Restocking the Flat

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 5: Restocking the Flat **__(SM/JM)_

Sebastian wandered back into the flat, only a few hours having passed since he left. He glanced into the bedroom and smiled, seeing Jim still lying there, his skin colour finally coming back it seemed.

He brought his groceries into the kitchen and organized the cupboards. He heard movement in the other room and grabbed the handgun from under the table. He creeped out into the hall and looked around.

He cried out as he was tackled to the ground. He flipped over, taking the upper hand and froze. "Cyrus?" he blinked in shock.

"Hello, big brother. Just dropping in. How've you been?" he asked and smiled sweetly, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You little–! You're lucky I didn't shoot you!" he exclaimed. "Because I was nearly about to!" he added.

Cyrus smirked and entangled his fingers in his brother's hair and nuzzled his nose gently. "Miss me?" he whispered.

Sebastian's cheeks went pink from the show of affection. "No." he grumbled, completely lying, but not wanting to come off as soft. "I'm working, Cyrus…and I thought you were off living with Sylvester now. Is he mistreating you?" he asked protectively.

"No, no. Nothing like that. Big brother Sylvester is magnificent. A pain in the arse, really. He's so bloody obnoxious sometimes." he scoffed. "Anyway…what kind of working? Protecting a dying man?" he chuckled.

Sebastian grabbed Cyrus by the throat, cutting off his breath. "He _isn't_ _dying_." he said forcefully. "He's getting better, so shut up or I'll bloody kill you." he growled.

Cyrus coughed. "Sebby….choking…please I'm…I'm sorry…." he wheezed, trying to catch a breath.

Sebastian glared and saw the fear in the boy's eyes. He let Cyrus go and sighed. "Now…stop asking questions, and start answering them. _What_ are you doing here?" he asked angrily, trying to keep his cool.

Cyrus pouted. "I'm here for a visit." he retorted smartly.

"What if I were to wash my hands of you, hmm?" Sebastian asked, voice now as icy as his glare.

"Alright alright! I was hired to make sure that bastard in the other room is dead for good."

Sebastian's eyes watered slightly. "You bastard…" he managed to choke out.

"What? Bastard? _Me_?" he glared. "Why the fuck are you calling me a bastard?" he added.

"I just nursed him back to health. Brother or not, family or not, you will _not_ kill him. _Ever_. Understood?" he hissed. "If I catch you here again, after him, I'll blow your brains across the wall. It's in need of a new paint job and I think red would look rather nice in here."

Cyrus gulped. "God…what is he to you, your lover?" he chuckled.

Sebastian growled, teeth bared. "I. Will. Kill. You." he snapped. He grabbed Cyrus by the hair and bashed his head against the floor several times.

"Sebastian! Stop that!" a voice called, anger evident.

Sebastian's head swiveled. "Jim? What are you doing out of bed?" he exclaimed and dropped the boy and rushed to Jim's side, draping his jacket over his shoulders. "Jim…you need to get to bed….You shouldn't be up and about yet."

Jim rolled his eyes. "You know I hate restrictions." he grumbled. "I'm up, so deal with it. Don't make me bite your nose." he sighed.

Sebastian blushed and picked Jim up and slung him gently over his shoulder. "To bed with you. Cyrus won't bother you for a while. But I need to take care of his injuries…" he sighed.

Jim pouted and nibbled Sebastian's ear. "Put me down Sebastian. I don't want to be in bed." he whined.

Sebastian sighed. "I don't care what you _want_, Jim. You _need_ to be in bed. I'll tie you to it if I have to." he growled.

Jim chuckled darkly in Sebastian's ear and licked it. "Then I guess you'll have to tie me down, darling." he giggled happily.

Sebastian grumbled and lay Jim down in the bed and tied him to it. "Now, stay. I have too much to do to be babysitting you right now." he grumbled and wandered out of the room.


	7. Chapter 6: Chance Meeting

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 6: Chance Meeting **_(JW/G/SM)

The sun shone in weakly through the shades. John groaned, opening his eyes and rolled over, face first into Gladestone's wet nose. "Urghhh…Goodmorning Gladestone…" he grumbled at the puppy. He reached up and scratched behind his ears. "Sleep well, buddy?" he asked quietly.

Gladestone licked John's nose and yawned. He stretched and jumped down off of the bed and scratched at the door, wanting to get out of the room.

"Alright, alright." he grumbled and got out of bed. He pulled some warm clothes out of his dresser, and pulled on his trousers and a warm jumper. "Ready for our walk, Gladestone?" he smiled sleepily.

Gladestone barked and pawed at the door. "Hold on, you mangey mutt." he sighed and hobbled over and opened the door.

Gladestone shot out of the room and ran down the stairs and waited impatiently at the front door.

"How do you possibly have so much energy?" John exclaimed, exasperated. He grabbed the leash from one of the hooks and clipped it to his collar. "Alright boy, let's go." he said and opened the door.

John and Gladestone walked around the block, Gladestone peeing on anything and everything. John yawned, his eyes squeezing shut and he walked into someone, nearly falling over.

"Oh! Excuse me! I'm so sorry!" John said and glanced at the person he'd run into and gasped. "Moran?" he blinked.

Sebastian's eyes widened and the tips of his ears went pink. "John Watson." He saluted him, standing straight and at attention.

"At ease." John muttered. "I haven't seen you since…well…" he frowned down at his feet.

"Since my dishonorable discharge. Yeah." Sebastian said stiffly. "I heard you got shot the day after…" he murmured.

John nodded curtly, glancing at Gladestone, who was contentedly smelling everything. "In the shoulder." he sighed. "Didn't hurt as much as I thought it would." he added and frowned. "How have you been?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"Oh…I'm doing well." Sebastian responded hesitantly. "Real life isn't all that bad…" he grumbled, making John smile.

"Yeah? Got anyone special living with you? That's an awful lot of stuff for one person." he commented, nodding towards the grocery bags.

"Living with my boss and my brother decided to drop by. Needed to get some things for them." he sighed.

"…living with your boss? Isn't that…unhealthy?" he asked and frowned.

"I'm a bodyguard now, John. Living with my boss is an important part of protecting him." he said and chuckled. His smile quickly vanished and his face blanched. "Sonofabitch! I'm sorry John! I really to get home. It was great seeing you. I'll drop you a line sometime!" he exclaimed and ran off.

John blinked. "Well…that was a bit odd, don't you think, Gladestone?" he smiled at the pup, which earned him a tail wag. "Look at your cute little happy butt." he giggled and massaged the pups head. "I love you." he whispered.

Gladestone yipped and licked John's hand happily and nipped at his fingertips.

"Hey now! None of that." he said and tapped the pups head reprimandingly. "Let's go on home. We'll have breakfast when we get back." he said and they walked back to 221B.


	8. Chapter 7: Scratching It Raw

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 7: Scratching It Raw **_(SH/GL)

The sound of the pitter pattering water in the shower was soothing and Lestrade's eyelids were drooping shut as he slumped on the sofa. When the sound stopped, Lestrade had nodded off.

Sherlock padded into the living room, dripping water everywhere, a towel wrapped about his waist. "Lestrade…?" he poked him and raised an eyebrow as the man stirred.

Lestrade jumped. "Holy shit Sherlock?" he exclaimed. "Why aren't you dressed?" he added and frowned, averting his eyes.

Sherlock frowned. "Where are your towels? I need one for my hair." he murmured.

Lestrade grumbled. "Why do you need a separate towel for your hair?" he asked and yawned. "There's a closet outside the bathroom. Towel's are in there. Now stop dripping on my floor!"

Sherlock frowned and padded back to the bathroom. He took a second towel from the closet and shut the door.

He came out a bit later, dressed in borrowed pajamas. "I smell like you…" he murmured, looking down at Lestrade.

Lestrade blinked, seeing Sherlock's face above his own. "How do you mind your hair?" he asked, still getting used to it himself.

"I'm on the fence. Though that might be due to continual need to get used to it. It's fine for the time being." he said and sighed.

"I was thinking, Sherlock–"

"Were you? That's new. How did it feel?" he asked, a coy smile playing at the corner of his soft lips.

"That's not nice." he grumbled. "Just because I'm not as smart as you, doesn't mean you need to be an arse all the time." he murmured. "As I was saying, while you were showering, I had a thought…You'll need a cover name. You can't be Sherlock Holmes anymore…Not for a while at least." he sighed.

The taller man glared down at Lestrade. "That's it?" he asked. "I'm a bit disappointed. Of course I'll need a cover name, but the trouble is thinking of an acceptable one…" he said and went about pacing. "I need a case, Lestrade. Why has no one died recently?" he asked, seriously.

Lestrade frowned. "Sherlock, that's an inappropriate attitude." he said and frowned. "I was thinking of calling you Stanley." he added.

"Stanley? Heavens no! It's too…plain. I have a name of my own thank you. I'll be going by Victor Trevor." he said and sighed.

He plopped down in the plush arm chair and crossed his arms, pouting. "My mind is scratching itself raw! I _need_ a case Lestrade. Get me a case. Or get me smokes, or some other mind numbing drug. Perhaps my brother will give you some cocaine for me…" he sighed, thinking about nicotine and his scratching mind. He twitched unconsciously.

Lestrade frowned. "I won't ask your brother for illegal drugs for his brother that died two days ago. Nicotine, I can get. Cases don't come every day, Sherlock. I'll put you back on the patch and work on finding you a good thinker." he said and sighed. "Perhaps puzzle books? 'Where's Waldo'? Maybe even…Oh! There's this game about a Professor who solves puzzles!" he smiled at the distress on Sherlock's features. "Stop that. We'll figure this out." he said reassuringly.

Sherlock dug his fingernails into the arm of the plush chair and glared at the ground. he steepled his fingers and pouted. "I need _something_, Greg." he murmured.


	9. Chapter 8: Protecting the Ones You Love

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 8: Protecting the Ones You Love **_(SM/JM)

Gunshots rang through the street, making Sebastian's heart go cold. "Oh god…No…" he whimpered and ran quickly to his flat, kicking the door in.

"Jim!" he called, frantically. "Jim, please!" he hurried to the bedroom and didn't find Jim strapped to the bed. The ties were broken and Sebastian cried out in frustration. "Cyrus! I'm going to bloody murder you!" he yelled, searching for either man.

He found both in the living room, chatting peaceably. "Why didn't either of you answer me? And why are _you_–" referring to Jim. "–out of bed again?" he exclaimed.

Jim turned around on the couch, his arm draped around Cyrus' shoulders. "Oh? Sebby, you're back?" he chuckled, and pulled his arm away, fingers lingering on Cyrus' shoulder. "Where did you run off to?" he asked.

Sebastian felt a burning in his heart, that he knew was jealousy. He glared. "I went to get more groceries, since Cyrus decided to join us. I know how _you_ eat, so I knew with another mouth, we'd need more food. I got more bandages as well." he said and sighed.

Jim smiled his wonderful adder smile. "You're eyes tell me how you're feeling Sebby. Do try not to bore me by not even attempting to keep yourself secret."

"He's always been an open book, Jim darling." Cyrus chuckled. "Him and Syl are so~o easy to read…" he added_._

Sebastian glared, pulling out his fun. "Don't force my hand. I'm itching to shoot someone today, Cyrus." he growled.

"Oh…I would very much like to see this…" Jim smiled and jumped up. "Almost popcorn worthy!" he chuckled.

Sebastian glared at Jim. "Oh, well look at _you_. Jumping like you weren't just recently _shot_!" he growled.

Jim crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at Sebastian. "Well, if _someone_ hadn't tied me to the bed like a naughty pet, you would know that I feel so~o much better!" he smirked.

Cyrus smiled. "He was begging and pleading and screaming to be set free. I couldn't just _leave_ him there, Sebby." he said with mockery dripping in his sarcastic tone.

Sebastian cocked the gun and pressed it hard to Cyrus' temple. "I will. I've changed because of that day. …and because _no-one_ takes what I love from me." he growled, through clenched teeth. His body was tense, but there was no sign of mercy in his eyes.

Jim's face went serious. "Stop." he said simply, and with that single command, Sebastian's arm came away from Cyrus' head without hesitation. "Good 'bastian." he whispered. "Go lay down in my room like a good pet."

Sebastian scoffed, but did as he was told, and without further questions, as he had done for years now, since joining with Moriarty. He wandered into his boss' bedroom and curled up on the bed, feeling small and lonely–too things he certainly wasn't.

There was a door slamming outside and then Jim walked into the room. "We are, may I say, pest-less." he chuckled. "And _you_, 'bastian darling, are looking delicious."


	10. Chapter 9: Soldiers Cry Too

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 9: Soldiers Cry Too **_(JW/G/MH)

John and Gladestone clambered up the stairs. "Do you want breakfast, kiddo?" he asked and chuckled.

He sighed and poured food into Gladestone's bowl. "Eat up. I'm going to go talk with Mrs. Hudson." he said and smiled sweetly. He hurried down the stairs and knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and peeked out. "John? Is there something you need dear?" she asked sweetly.

"Uhm…well…I might be a bit late on rent…I'm having a difficult time finding a clinic job." he murmured, a bit embarrassed to talk about his financial problems.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Not a problem dear…Get it to me as soon as you can. I know you're going through a hard time." she whispered.

John nodded and hurried back upstairs and jumped, seeing a dark figure in the kitchen. He grabbed his handgun and edged towards the kitchen. "What are you doing in my kitchen?" he asked, watching the figure carefully.

"John! I was hoping you'd be home!" a familiar voice said, and the man turned around.

"Mycroft?" John exclaimed. "Wh-What? Why are you here?" he asked worriedly.

Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes' older brother. The head of the British Government, often referred to as '_The_ British Government'. He was a taller man, much like Sherlock, and a bit rounder around the middle.

"John, please calm down." he said and sighed. "I have some news for you, but I need you to sit down." he said and smiled kindly.

John blinked and pulled up a chair. He sat down in it hesitantly and looked up at Mycroft.

"Alright, what is it you need to say?" he asked.

Mycroft smile and leaned against the fridge. "John…you know how far my influence reaches, and that I have eyes everywhere, yes?"

John frowned, and looked curiously at Mycroft, wondering where this was going. "Well…what are you trying to say then?" he asked.

Mycroft smiled. "John…One of my men has seen him alive. one of my men saw him, living with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade." he paused, letting it sink in, watching John's reaction, a smile on his lips.

John froze, thinking about what Mycroft was saying. "He's…alive? Sherlock….he's…." his eyes watered and he buried his head in his arms and burst into tears. "Mycroft! He's alive! Why hasn't he come home?" he asked, looking up through watery eyes.

Mycroft's smile faded slightly. "John…he's…there's evidence that he's trying to clear his name…" he sighed and pulled an envelope from his coat. "I brought you something."

John took the envelope and frowned. "Thank you Mycroft. Thank you for telling me, thank you for everything…" he whispered and hugged the envelope.

"I have a meeting to attend, please feel free to contact me if ever you need anything. Good afternoon, John." he said and left hastily.

John swallowed hard and hesitantly opened the envelope and pulled out the pictures and looked through them, tears biting at his eyes. The pictures were all of Sherlock. The first were of him, unchanged, but the last ones he had short blond hair. John's tears streamed down his cheeks and he quickly pulled out his phone.

'I like the new hair. Very appealing. When are you coming home. -JW'


	11. Chapter 10: Shattering the Plan

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 10: Shattering the Plan **_(SH/GL)

The phone buzzed on the table and both men glanced down, eyes wide. Sherlock jumped up and grabbed the phone and opened the message and his eyes widened still.

"He knows…" he said quietly. "Greg…John knows that I'm alive…" he whispered, looking up at him.

Lestrade gaped at Sherlock. "How could he know? How could he–no. He's just hoping. Don't send him anything…' he said and frowned.

Sherlock scoffed. "No. He _knows_. He said my new hair looks nice…" he said retorted quietly.

Lestrade blinked. "Fuck." he grumbled. "Sherlock…what are we going to do?"

'I don't know who you are. You must have the wrong number. -SH' Sherlock sent the message and swore. "I sent that with my initials!" he growled. His phone buzzed again and he glanced at it. "Greg…I screwed up! What am I going to do? I haven't figured out how to even begin clearing my name, let alone keeping him safe!"

'Sherlock, don't ignore me. I know it's you. When are you coming home? You should come meet Gladestone. -JW'

Sherlock hit his face into his palm and hung his head. He started a message to John, erased it, and started another, not sure how to respond to him.

'I already met him. I can't come home. Good evening, John. -SH' Sherlock decided on this simple message and sent it.

"Sherlock, stop texting him! You sending him texts isn't going to make you hiding easy!" he exclaimed, taking the phone away. "You're like a damned child, Sherlock Holmes." he growled.

Sherlock glared and punched Lestrade, taking back his phone. "I'm going home, Greg. I will not stay here. I'm going back to John."

Greg frowned. "What? You're…really? But what about proving yourself innocent?" he asked, a bit bewildered.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and calmly let it out. "That _was_ the plan. Apparently that plan is out the window Lestrade. If you'll excuse me, I should catch a cab before it's too late." He stood slowly from the armchair with a sigh.

Greg frowned. "Sherlock…I'm sorry that this happened. You can come back to work with me on cases if you'd like."

"No Greg. I can't chance working with you." he said and frowned. "I'll have to work on private cases. Understand?" he added and looked away.

"Sherlock…" he murmured.

"No. Greg…Just shush. Thank you for everything, but I can't start working with you again. At least not right away."

'Coming home yet? -JW'

Sherlock grumbled. "He's getting impatient. Goodbye, Greg. For now." he said and sighed. Sherlock grabbed his things and bounded out to go catch a cab. He got in and told the cabby the address.

'On my way. Be there in 5 minutes. Miss me? -SH'


	12. Chapter 11: 'Daddy's Back'

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 11: 'Daddy's Back!' **_(SM/JM)

The room felt hot as Jim stepped inside and closed the door. "I'm not _food_, Jim." Sebastian murmured, feeling that _that_'_s_ what he had chosen to say in response.

Jim also seemed disappointed, but he crawled onto the bed, crawling over Sebastian. He laid down on him and nibbled his ear, chuckling against it. "Sebby…you even _taste_ delicious." he smiled, licking his ear.

Sebastian let a quiet moan escape past his lips. "Jim…" he whimpered, his hands curling into loose fists, his cheeks warming up. "I love reducing you to a pile of whimpering sniper." he chuckled and lined soft, feather-light kisses along his jaw. "You're all mine, Sebby." he hissed in between kisses.

"Jim…" he breathed and tangled his fingers in Jim's short, messy dark hair and smiled. "Your hair grew out…it's nice." he smirked and tugged. "I have something to hold on to now." he kissed Jim's collarbone with gentle lips.

Jim breathed out happily. "I like it when you're like this Sebby. It's fun, dangerous." he chuckled and nipped at Sebastian's ear, and then his neck, leaving a nice red mark. "I'll mark you as my property, Sebastian, darling. No one will dare touch you." he smiled.

Sebastian whimpered when Jim bit him again, sucking hard on the skin to leave another dark mark. "Jim…where did you send my brother?" he whispered.

Jim snarled and hit Sebastian out of anger, pure rage in his eyes and actions. "I'm trying to spend time being human with you, and you have the _balls_ to interrupt to ask about your damned _brother_?" he growled.

"Don't you dare get mad at _me_, Jim! _I_ should be the one snarling and all that. You're _such_ an idiot! Asking me to shoot you, just so that damned detective could be out of the picture!" he snapped. "You and your damn _feelings_ for him, and you think _this_ will make up for your bullshit?" he glared and pushed Jim off of him.

"Sebby darling–"

"No! Shut up! Just stop it! Stop calling me 'Sebby' and stop trying to be Mr. Super Genius and thinking that I'll just bend over for you!" he said venomously, regretting his word choice.

Jim smirked. "Oh, you'll bend over for me, 'bastian, not to worry." he said, eyes gleaming with a powerful lust.


	13. Chapter 12: Family Reunion

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 12: Family Reunion **_(JW/G/SH)

The wait was killing him. It felt like years that went by as he sat by the crackling fire. Gladestone whined at his feet, licking the carpet impatiently. Whenever the sound of a cab was outside, both would jump up, only to realize he hadn't arrived yet.

Finally the doorknob downstairs jiggled and the door opened. "John?" the unmistakable voice called up the stairs. Gladestone bounded down the stairs and John hurried after him. He froze at the top of the stairs, looking down at his now blond friend.

"Sherlock…" he breathed and hurried down the stairs, throwing his arms around him.

Sherlock fell back against the door from the force of his friend's hug. "John, did you miss me?" he asked and smiled sweetly.

John blushed and pulled away, crossing his arms. "Shut up. Of course I missed you, you dolt!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were dead!" he added and sighed, his eyes watering slightly.

Sherlock was knocked back a second time when Gladestone jumped up on him. The breath was knocked out of him and he chuckled. "Hello cutie pie." he said and smiled, scratching the dog behind his ears. "John, he's adorable!" he giggled happily. "Is he always like this?"

John chuckled and helped Sherlock push Gladestone down. "Well, he is still a puppy Sherlock." he said and smiled. There was an instant change in the air as John remembered what he had been through. He punched Sherlock, knocking the man back for a third time. "You bloody arse! I went to your funeral!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I know. I did too. It was quite lovely, but a bit small. I had expected more people to show…" he sighed and gingerly rubbed his jaw.

John punched him again, this time in the shoulder and this time with slightly less drive. "Why didn't you tell me you were alive?" he exclaimed angrily. "I sent texts, hoping you were alive and you could get them…" he murmured, wiping his eyes like a sad child.

Sherlock frowned. "Well…I got them…but I couldn't let you know I was alive, John. You couldn't know…"

"Why? Why couldn't I know, Sherlock? Molly knew, and Lestrade, but not me, your best friend. Why can't you have told me?" he growled.

Sherlock frowned. "John…god…it's because if you had known and hadn't had such a genuine reaction to my jump, you and Mrs. Hudson would have gotten shot by Moriarty's snipers." he said and frowned. "I didn't know when the snipers would stop watching, but with Moriarty dead–"

"He's dead? How?" he exclaimed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Honestly John, he shot himself while we were up on the roof. It was a bit of a surprise really…" he murmured. "I hadn't expected him to shoot himself…" he sighed.

John's eyes were wide, and the sound of the kettle whistling broke the silence.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Tea?" he asked and smiled at John.

John returned the smile. "Of course." he said. "Oh, and Sherlock?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "Hmm?" he glanced at John questioningly.

"Welcome home." he whispered.


	14. Chapter 13: New Identity

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 13: New Identity **_(SM/JM)

The tension that had grown in the room was almost tangible. Jim was lusting after Sebastian with dark eyes, while Sebastian glared coldy at his boss.

"I will do no such thing." he said simply. "I thought you were _dead_, you know? Thought you'd really gone and blown your damn beautiful brains out." he growled.

"Oh, was my Sebby worried about my well-being?" Jim cooed and smiled.

"No, actually. More worried about my next pay check." he lied. He sensed that Jim hadn't bought it and sighed. "You could have sent a text, you know. Lucky I found you..." he grumbled. "Bleeding like you were, too stubborn to go to a damned hospital, especially when you were on top of one!"

"My my Sebastian...you were _that_ worried about me? Then why didn't _you_ send me a text? After our dear Sherlock took his spectacular swan dive?" he raised an eyebrow and frowned.

"I don't know Jim, perhaps I thought you'd come down and get in the damned car like we had planned! I waited for hour, I hope you're aware!" he growled.

"Hush now, Sebastian, I don't want to fight about this any longer. I want to fuck you and get past this."

"Oh, you sly thing Jim. Jim Moriarty, always getting his goddamned way. Using his body and sheer genius to overcome everything and everyone. Jim Moriarty-"

"No. That's not my name anymore." Jim said, staring at his nails boredly.

"What?" Sebastian quirked a brow and frowned.

"My name isn't Jim Moriarty anymore." he said. He saw Sebastian about to speak and held up a hand to stop the questions. "I'm not Richard Brooke either. Neither man could exist anymore."

Sebastian frowned. "So then who are you now? My boss still, obviously." he murmured.

Jim smirked. "Oh, I don't know if I should indulge you, Sebastian, you've been _awfully_ rude to me..." he smiled sweetly.

"Oh don't you start with _me_." he snarled. "Boss or not, I could tear you apart limb from limb." he added.

Jim chuckled. "Shush your anger now, Mister." he smirked. "You'll like my new identity, it's very...sentimental and human of me, I think." he added.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Named yourself after Sherlock then? Or perhaps one of your dogs?" he asked sarcastically.

Jim crossed his arms and pouted. "No. I'm Jim Moran now." he said and glanced at Sebastian to watch his reaction.

The bigger man's eyes widened a bit and his ears went pink in embarrassment. "You...you changed your last name to...match mine?" he whispered. "Jim!" he exclaimed and threw his arms around the smaller man. He pressed their lips together happily.

Jim smiled against Sebastian's lips, and sighed. "I should do sentimental things more often..." he whispered and tangled his fingers in Sebastian's short hair.

"Jim...I love you..." he whispered against his lips, and they fell back together into the bed.


	15. Chapter 14: Lonely Hearts Club

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 14: Lonely Hearts Club **_(GL/MH)

The bar was crowded and noisy, but it was nice because it made it easier to lose oneself in the sound. Sitting alone at the bar, drinking a scotch, was Greg.

He stared off into the near distance, lost in thought. He didn't even notice the man sit down beside him. "Bad day, Greg?" the familiar voice asked and ordered a drink.

Greg snapped out of his daze and looked at the man sitting next to him. "Mycroft?" he blinked, a bit stunned. "What are you doing here?"

Mycroft smiled sweetly at Greg and sipped his drink. "I'm here for a drink, obviously. I come here sometimes when I want to get away from my stature…" he sighed.

Greg downed his drink. "You're brother has been staying with me, but he went home today. Back to John. Now it's lonely again at home, and I really don't want to go…" he admitted and sighed.

Mycroft frowned. "My brother was living with you?" he asked and frowned, even though he already knew this information. He was a bit surprised that Greg thought he wouldn't have known this.

Greg nodded. "It was temporary, I know, but I had expected it to last a bit longer than it did…" he murmured. "It was nice not being alone in that damned house…" he added, putting his head in his arms.

"You haven't left that house?" Mycroft asked curiously. "I had thought you had moved out after she left…" he added and sighed, sipping his drink again absently.

"No! I couldn't leave! I have nowhere else to go, Mycroft. I'm all alone…" he downed another drink and reburied his head in the cradle of his arms.

Mycroft placed a gently hand on Greg's back and sighed deeply. "If you ever want company, Greg, you can always contact me. I'll either call you to the Diogenes, or I'll come to you." he said and scrawled a number on a napkin.

Greg picked his head up and frowned. "What's this then?" he asked sleepily.

"My number, but I do not believe I should leave you like this." Mycroft said and sighed. "I will take you home, Greg. Let's go, up we go." he said and helped Greg off of the bar stool.

Greg tripped over his own feet and fell into Mycroft, pushing them both to the wall. "Oops…I'm so...sorry Mycroft…I'm so clumsy…" he muttered.

Mycroft blinked and looked at Greg nervously. "Are you alright, Greg?" he asked his breath hot and slow.

Greg smiled slightly and put a finger to Mycroft's lips. "I don't want to be lonely anymore…" he whispered and pressed his lips to Mycroft's gently, wrapping his arms around Mycroft's neck.


	16. Chapter 15: Give Me Some!

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 15: Give Me Some! **_(SH/JW)

That night was rough on everyone in 221B. Sherlock was becoming impatient, having gone almost a week since his fall without a case. And John had the unfortunate job of trying to calm the irritated man.

"John, my mind is scratching itself raw!" he hissed and pulled at his hair in frustration.

John sighed. "Sherlock, you know you can't bring attention to yourself just yet. You're still 'dead', remember?" he sighed. "We clear your name, and _then_ you can get a case."

Sherlock huffed in exasperation and jumped up, strutting to the window. "John…Please. I need something to numb my mind!" he exclaimed, whipping around, staring at him with wild eyes.

John frowned and glanced at Sherlock nervously. "Sherlock, don't look at me like that…it's scary." he murmured. "We'll figure this out, I promise. I'll find you something to do, to numb your mind."

"John! I need some! Get me some!" he exclaimed, his eyes wild with desperation.

"No. Sherlock, I'm not going to get you cigarettes!" he grumbled. "We'll find you puzzles or something to play, but you are not smoking. Got it?"

Sherlock growled. "Get me some!" he exclaimed again, pushing John to the wall. "John _please_! Puzzles won't help…" he said and frowned. "I need something stronger…"

John blushed, his breathing a bit labored, what with Sherlock being so close to him. "Sher…lock…" he whispered. he closed his eyes and composed himself quickly, not wanting to show weakness to this man whilst he was in this state. "I will _not_ get you cigarettes. I'll get you nicotine patches. Alright?"

Sherlock growled and pressed himself closer to John, their faces so close now. "John…fine. For now, maybe that will work." he mumbled. "Get me those then." he whispered, his warm breath making the small hairs on John's body stand on end.

"Sherlock…don't stand so close to me…please…" he murmured. "You're…you're making me…feel uncomfortable…" he added quietly.

Sherlock frowned. "John, honestly, you're shaking like a leaf." he said and sighed. He stepped away carefully. "What about me makes you so uncomfortable?" he asked curiously, wondering if he could use it to get what he wanted.

John shivered. "Sherlock…It's…It's just that…." he closed his eyes, trying to decide on what he wanted to do, what he wanted to say. "You don't make me uncomfortable. Not exactly, anyway." he sighed. "it's more of…how I feel that makes me uncomfortable."

"Be bold, John! I jumped off a rooftop to save you and Mrs. Hudson. You could stand to leap with such boldness of your own once in a—"

John pushed Sherlock to the wall and pressed his lips against Sherlock's soft, delicate lips. He carefully ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, deepening the kiss, with Sherlock slowly wrapping his arms around John's waist.


	17. Chapter 16: Desperate Times

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 16: Desperate Times… **_(JM/SM)

The sun shone in through the crack in the curtains, and Jim groaned. "Sebby…close that…make the sun go away. Make it night time again…" he whimpered.

"I'm making breakfast, Jim." he called from the kitchen. "You sleep too long." he chuckled. "Come eat." he called.

Jim groaned extra loud and rolled over, rubbing his eyes. He sniffed the air and jumped up, rushing, still naked, to the kitchen.

"That was quick." he chuckled and kissed Jim's forehead gently. "You're still naked…go put some pants on at least." he sighed.

"No. Feed me." Jim said and crossed his arms. "Give me food. Please." he said and smiled sweetly.

Sebastian frowned. "Jim. Pants." he said and sighed. "I'm not letting you eat until you have at least pants on!" he added and frowned.

Jim crossed his arms and pouted, watching Sebastian with cold eyes. "Meanie…you're so mean Sebby…" he glared and toddled off to the bedroom.

He dug through the clothes, and pulled some pants on and wandered back into the kitchen. "Fine. Pants." he grumbled. "Give me food now." he said and grumbled.

Sebastian chuckled and put a plate down in front of Jim. "Thank you for putting on some pants, even though those are _my_ pants." he chuckled. "We have things to do today." he added and sighed, drinking his coffee whilst leaning against the counter.

Jim ate greedily and spoke as he ate. "What are we doing today? Trying to take over the world?" he chuckled at his own joke.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "No." he said and sighed. "You have to give that up for awhile. Stay on the downlow…" he added. "And so, we're going out to do normal people things." he smirked and finished his coffee.

Jim groaned and banged his head on the table. "I'd rather shoot my precious brains out." he said and hit his head again.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and pulled Jim away from the table by the back of the chair. Jim proceeded to try to hit his head, and fell forward on his face for his troubles.

"Sebby! You dropped me!" he exclaimed and whimpered. He mashed his face against the floor stubbornly.

"Jim…if you keep doing that, you're going to lose your brains anyway…" he said and sighed. "Now go get dressed. We have _normal_ things we have to do." he said again.

Jim sat up and crossed his arms and gave Sebastian a pouty face. "But I don't wanna…" he said childishly.

"Jim. You need to adjust to a normal life now, and I'm trying to help you do that." he said. Seeing this had no affect on Jim's stance, he became a bit cross. "You'll sleep on your own until you decide to listen to me." he added, threateningly.

Jim's eyes widened. "You wouldn't!" he exclaimed. "You're bluffing!"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Get dressed, or I'm leaving without you and you can sleep alone. I won't even let you _touch_ me in a sexual way until you've come with me." he said.

Jim whimpered and jumped up, scampering off to the bedroom to get a shirt and clean up to leave.


	18. Chapter 17: Happiness is a Warm Bed

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 17: Happiness is a Warm Bed **_(GL/MH)

The two men stumbled into the large flat, still entangled with one another. Greg broke the kiss for a moment to close the door behind them.

"Mycroft…you sure this is alright? Don't you have some sort of meetings or something?" he asked, leaning against the door.

The younger man frowned. "I had Anthea cancel all my plans. She will reschedule everything." he whispered, wrapping an arm around Greg's waist.

Greg smiled and pressed his lips to Mycroft's, and sighed. "Were you extremely busy tonight?" he asked quietly.

Mycroft sighed. "Can we _not_ talk about work right now, Greg?" he asked and sighed. He undid his tie and smiled.

"But you're an important man." he murmured. "Won't there be a lot of people upset that you've cancelled?"

Mycroft frowned, seeing that Greg wasn't going to drop this without getting answers. "I often cancel such things. Usually due to my brain going into an overload, and needing some help from my brother." he said and sighed.

Greg's face fell. "Your brother? How does he help?" he asked.

"I've taught him exactly how to help me, because he has the same issues as I, though much less often, having your cases to occupy him." Mycroft said and smiled darkly.

"That doesn't explain how he helps you…" Greg grumbled.

"He distracts my mind. He cuts off all my senses except smell and touch." he said and sighed. "And he makes me forget my minds troubles…It's a Holmes' thing, I suppose. We both have such…brilliant minds. But they just…" he sighed.

"Wait…by 'distract', do you…do you mean…?" he blushed, his eyes wide.

Mycroft chuckled. "Now, now Greg. That's confidential. I'm not allowed to talk about what happens in the walls of the Diogenes Club." he said and sighed.

Greg made a face and frowned. "That's a bit…wrong…isn't it?" he murmured. "Why would you do things like that with your own brother?"

Mycroft sighed. "Oh please, Greg. You _really_ need to learn how to take a joke…" he grumbled. "I don't do things with my brother. You forget that he and I have a complicated relationship as it. Adding in sexual tensions would make seeing him even _more_ of a hassle." he stated dismissively.

Greg frowned and laughed nervously. "Of course. How…How stupid of me for suggesting such a thing." he sighed.

"Though the part about him helping me is no lie. It's just not in a way you're thinking." he sighed. "Greg…I should go…" he added and frowned.

Greg's face fell. "Go…? But you…we were…alright. Goodnight, Mycroft…" he murmured.

Mycroft smiled sadly. "Goodnight, Gregory. Some other time, perhaps." he said and sighed, opening the door and leaving.


	19. Chapter 18: What is this feeling?

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 18: What is this feeling…? **_(SH/JW/VT)

Sherlock resisted the kiss at first, trying to push John away. But after a moment, the kiss was more confusing to him, making him curious and want more. He carefully wrapped his arms around John's waist, pulling him slightly closer. He let his eyes slip shut as his body relaxed.

John broke the kiss, and looked expectantly at Sherlock. "That a bold enough leap for you?" he whispered, watching Sherlock's face carefully.

A smile spread along Sherlock's soft lips. "I'm unsure…" he whispered curiously. "I'm unsure how to feel…" he added and the smile melted away. "John I…and I mean…I'm on a case…"

John frowned. "No you're not…But what does being on a case have to do with anything anyway?" he murmured. He looked sadly at Sherlock, grabbing his hands and squeezing them.

Sherlock shook his head. "John…I don't do _anything_ on a case but things relevant to the case in question. You know that…" he said and frowned. "We can't test this until my case is over…" he whispered.

John growled and pulled away angrily. "Fine! Get to your damned case then!" he shouted and stormed to his room.

The door slammed shut and silence fell over the flat. Sherlock sighed and plopped into his chair and looked about. He grabbed the skull from the mantelpiece and cradled it in his hands.

"You see the sort of messes I make without you, my friend?" he whispered, gazing into its empty eye sockets. "Nearly as terrible as my final mistake with you…" he added and sighed, leaning back in his chair, holding the skull close to his heart.

"Vic…what do I do?" Sherlock whispered to the skull after a long silence. "My life is like Uni all over again…but this time…there's no case to fix this. I'd have to—" he fell silent, his eyes widening. "No…Vic I can't do that! I won't risk it, I can't!" he exclaimed.

Another silence fell, and it was like Sherlock was listening to something, or someone, in the silence. "I know I risked our friendship, but Vic! I can't lose being a Consulting Detective! It's all I've got now…" he exclaimed. "It's what's keeping me off of narcotics, and I…I'm doing that for you…" he whispered, his eyes watering.

He closed his eyes, falling silent and listening, opening his mind. "Vic…I don't have to listen to you. You only exist in my Mind Palace. So what happens when I close the doors?" he whispered, and his eyes watered as the door closed, and his world fell silent.


	20. Chapter 19: Back to UniYears

((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is _**SLASH FICTION**_ if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

**WARNING!** _**I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer**_

_**Chapter 19: Back to Uni-Years **_(Uni SH/MH/VT)

_ Sherlock walked onto campus and looked around with a bored look. "My, do I _have_ to be here?" he grumbled, turning back to the black car._

_ Mycroft chuckled. "Oh, brother mine…" he smiled and stepped out of the car. "Yes. You have to be here. you need schooling, whether you think so or not, and I won't let you quit." he said and sighed. "Not again, anyway. Mummy won't be happy about that…" he said._

_ Sherlock glared at Mycroft and walked around. "Which way is it to my flat?" he asked and sighed boredly. "Might as well deal with this properly if there's no chance of escape." he smiled an innocent smile at his brother, who wasn't buying it in the least._

_ "I don't trust you at all, brother mine, so you're aware. I'll be keeping tabs on you at all times. Be lucky I don't install surveillance…" he sighed and pointed towards a building. "Your flat is in there, your flatemate's name is—_

_ "I have a _flatemate_?" he exclaimed. "You have _got _to be _kidding_ me!" he added. "Not _only_ do I have to _stay_ here, I have to have a _flatemate_?" he growled and glared at his brother angrily._

_ Mycroft chuckled at Sherlock's outburst, having expected he would react as such. "You're so amusing, brother mine." he mused, a smile playing at his lips. "I did not think you would have such an absolutely terrible reaction such as this." he lied, chuckling again._

_ Sherlock fell silent and continued to glare at his brother as they approached the building he would be staying in. They got to the door, and Mycroft knocked carefully and stepped back to wait._

_ The door opened and a young man stood in the doorway. He had dark hair and light green eyes, a smile on his lips. "Hello. One of you must be my flatmate then, yeah?" he asked and looked between the two men._

_ Mycroft grinned and offered his hand out and they shook politely. "It's a pleasure, I am Mycroft Holmes, and this is my brother, Sherlock Holmes." he said kindly._

_The man smiled and looked at Sherlock curiously. "I'm Victor Trevor. I'm your flatmate." he said and offered his hand out._

_Sherlock glanced down at the hand disdainfully and refused to offer his own. "Please don't state the obvious. I am not an idiot, Vic." he said rather cooly._

_Victor frowned. "It's Victor…" he said and glanced at Mycroft who sighed, knowing that this was going to be tough on this poor youth._

"_Again, with stating the obvious. But I shant waste time saying your full name." Sherlock replied and wandered past Victor, slipping his shoes off and looking around._

**A/N: **_Alright, well this chapter is still under construction, so if you want me to write more, you'll have to wait for a bit. I have Marching Band Hell Week at the moment! :D I'll get to writing more as soon as possible! Please leave comments, I would love to hear what you think so far._


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